


Get Out of My Head

by GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, Strangers to Lovers, Voyeurism, barely edited too lmao, connor's got a praise kink if you squint, these idiots cant handle their emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes/pseuds/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes
Summary: “I hear every single person you bring home,” Connor’s voice gets quiet all of the sudden. Barely above a whisper. Connor looks down at the floor. His “Are you trying to hurt me? Torture me by making me listen? I thought…”He trails off, unsure of where he’s going.Hank’s heart falls through his chest. It falls through the floor, going deep into the core of the earth.“Oh-- oh god Connor,” Hank rasps out. “I was trying to get you out of my head.”--------Or, Connor’s neighbor is too loud in bed and Connor catches feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with.





	Get Out of My Head

**Author's Note:**

> so um I read [this twitter thread](https://twitter.com/connorssizekink/status/1090254470385147904) and was inspired to write.  
> Now idk what happened to my typical writing style in this, but oh well this was fun to write. This is hardly edited lmao I wrote this in roughly 7 hours (I did get distracted frequently haha by twitter threads). So I hardly edited this before posting. So i hope yall like this!!! I did it was so much fun to write c:

Connor first meets his neighbor Hank Anderson in passing. They pass each other in the hall. Connor’s on his way back downstairs, in the middle of bringing cardboard boxes up from his car to his second floor apartment. Hank is on his way home from work, completely exhausted and almost stumbling up the stairs.

The two made eye contact for a few seconds. Connor cracked a smile, about to pause and greet his new neighbor. But Hank’s boots kept thumping up the stairs, passing by his new neighbor without acknowledgement. Connor was a little hurt, but he quickly brushed it off so he can bring up the last few boxes. He had a lot to unpack after all.

 

\-------------------------------

 

The second time Hank and Connor meet, Hank’s more coherent.

That passing moment in the hall had hardly registered in Hank’s mind. He had stumbled up the stairs, exhausted after a long day that started at four in the morning, and immediately collapsed in bed. He didn’t even realize that he saw a new face in the stairwell.

But he notices the second time, when he turns into the little nook in the lobby that has all the tenant mailboxes. There’s some twink standing next to his mailbox, hair a tousled mess and glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he flips through his stack of mail.

Hank raises an eyebrow, giving the twink a once over.

The guy’s in his pajamas-- despite it being five in the afternoon on a Tuesday. Blue plaid pajama pants are slung low on the stranger’s hips, barely covered by an oversized grey hoodie. The dude’s even _barefoot,_ and Hank almost scowls. What kind of animal would go barefoot _in their apartment lobby?_

“Am I in your way?” The man asks, yanking Hank from his thoughts.

Hank blinks, meeting eyes with the twink.

The guy’s a few inches shorter than him, making the man look up at Hank through the black-framed glasses.

“Kinda,” Hank says, sort of grumbling because he doesn’t know what else to say. Hank’s sort of speechless, because now that they’re looking at each other, Hank can see just how youthful and gorgeous the guy is. Hank would have to be possessed to not find his new neighbor attractive.

And Hank knows he’s kinda fucked-- this nameless guy is completely and _totally_ Hank’s type.

The guy blushes a little, stepping back and murmuring an apology.

“It’s fine,” Hank says. He waves his hand a little, dismissing the guy’s quiet apology as he unlocks his mailbox. “Are you new to the building or something? Haven’t seen you around before.”

The man nods. “Yeah… I’m Connor Stern.”

The man, Connor, fumbles his mail in his arms for a second, then he reaches out a hand. Hank eyes it for a second, then shakes it.

“Hank Anderson.”

Connor smiles gently, retracting his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Hank replies, turning back to his mailbox and opening it. There’s not much inside-- just a few pieces that Hank can already tell are junk.

Connor senses that the conversation is over. He lingers for a few seconds, fiddling with one of the envelopes in his arms. Then he turns and walks over to the stairs. As Connor starts up the steps, Hank glances at his back.

Hank knows it’s not kinda fucked, he’s _totally and completely fucked_. Connor’s voice is perfect, the perfect amount of deepness and raspiness. His face is perfect, with large freckles dotted like they’re making constellations on his skin. His smile is perfect too, teeth flawlessly straight.

Hank is so fucked.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Seeing each other at the mailboxes becomes a fairly regular thing. One or two times a week, they both stop in the nook with the mailboxes at the same time. Hank’s usually on his way in from work, while Connor’s taking a break from work. Connor is typically in loungewear, and after a few days of seeing Connor in various pajama pants, Hank asks why Connor’s never dressed despite it being early evening.

Apparently Connor’s some kind of programmer, working on some complicated project with a tech company nestled in downtown Detroit. Connor’s fortunate enough to be able to work from home, Hank had said after Connor explained why he was never properly dressed. In turn, Hank had revealed he worked in homicide. Connor was delightfully intrigued by it, asking a few questions out of curiosity but not enough to overstep.

It was nice… their little five minute meetings in the building lobby.

Hank was learning little details about his neighbor; which in turn meant his crush was getting worse.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Something is banging against his apartment wall.

Connor groans, running a hand through his hair. His fingers catch on knots; Connor’s fully aware he should shower and brush his hair… but there’s some kind of bug in the system that he can’t find. Every time he tries starting up the program, it runs for only thirty seconds before error messages pop up. It’s getting frustrating as all hell.

He’s on hour eleven of trying to get this to work, and he’s running out of patience. And energy drinks. The final few cans in his fridge sit empty in the little waste bin by his desk. Now the high of the drink is wearing off, he’s running out of steam.

And there’s something still banging on his _goddamn_ wall.

Connor’s about to leap from his desk. He wants to bang on the wall back with closed fists, beating out his anger and frustration. But he swallows it down, trying to find the flaw in the code he’s painfully typed out.

Another bang, then a noise. It’s a groan.

Something deep, and… and _oh fuck._

Connor pauses, slowly turning in his desk chair. The old thing squeaks as he moves, turning to face the wall that’s shared between his apartment and Hank’s.

There’s a series of sharp bangs. Connor realizes that it’s Hank… and someone else. Some kind of mix of shame, embarrassment, and arousal pools in Connor’s stomach. He swallows thickly, realizing just how fucking inappropriate it is to be aroused by overhearing your neighbor having sex.

Connor glances back at the computer screen. He should get back to work. He still has a bug to fix… but another bang on his wall distracts him. There’s not a chance he’s going to get work done like this.

 _“Oh god--”_ a groan filters in through the wall. The noise goes straight to Connor’s crotch. It sounds like it could be--...

Before he can divulge further, Connor stands up from his desk. The abrupt movement makes his chair squeak again. He ignores the sound, both the chair and the banging, and crosses his room. He throws open the door to the small closet, grabbing the first pair of pants he sees. He shoves his feet through the leg holes, pulling them on so sharply it’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped them.

The banging on his wall picks up speed, like some kind of fucked up, sexual metronome. Connor tries his best to ignore it as he throws on some clothes, but it’s hard when there’s low groans in between each bang.

He shoves his feet into a pair of worn tennis shoes, rushing to leave his room (and apartment) before he hears either person on the other side of the wall finish.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Hank and Connor see each other three days later. They’re not at the mailboxes, like usual. This time, they’re passing each other on the stairs.

Hank’s coming home from work, and Connor’s leaving to go somewhere. When they meet eyes, both pause. They’re on a landing in between floors when they pause.

“Hey,” Hank greets, a little stunned by the Connor he sees.

Instead of Connor’s usual pj-pants-hoodie get up, Connor’s wearing white button up with a charcoal grey sweater layered on top. His pj pants have been replaced with a pair of tight, dark denim jeans. His glasses are gone too, and his hair is brushed and styled-- slicked back smoothly, except for one piece that falls over his forehead.

“Hey Hank,” Connor greets, smiling a little. It’s on the awkward side, but it’s kind of endearing.

“You’re dressed up… where you headed to?” Hank asks, raising an eyebrow.

Connor laughs a little, sheepishly pulling at the bottom of his knit sweater.

“Some friends of mine invited me out for drinks,” he responds. “I think we’re celebrating work…? I’m not quite sure, if I’m honest.”

Hank snorts. “You look nice.”

Connor blushes, barely perceptible. But damn, Hank’s nothing but a detective. He can see the pale pink tinge to Connor’s cheeks at the compliment.

“I-I have to go,” Connor stutters. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Hank nods, stepping to the side so Connor can pass him. Connor does, taking two stair steps down.

“Have fun,” Hank says after a few seconds.

“Thanks.” Connor pauses, half-turning so he can look at Hank one last time. His smile is bright… and beautiful. “Have a good evening Hank.”

“Yeah, you too.” Hank manages to choke down his anxiety, still able to appear calm and collected as Connor wishes him goodnight.

The two look at each other for a second, then Connor turns back to go down the last few steps to the lobby. Hank spurs into action after Connor disappears into the lobby. He realizes, far too late, that Connor must’ve overheard him the other night… when he had… um… what can only be described as a _twink_ over at his place.

He had gotten too carried away-- Hank was used to the apartment next to his being empty. He could rail into some stranger, headboard banging against the wall without consequence. Except now he has a neighbor, an _incredibly hot neighbor he wants to absolutely fuck_ , who can hear him through the paper thin walls.

Hank swallows thickly as he unlocks his apartment door. He looks at Connor’s door for a second, wondering if it’s fortunate or unfortunate that Connor’s so damn attractive.

It’s probably both-- because _god_ Connor cleans up nicely.  

 

\-------------------------------

 

How Connor made it back to his apartment is a miracle.

At dinner, surrounded by North, Markus, Simon, and Josh, he had drank one too many glasses of wine. He’ll regret it in the morning, as he always does with wine, but for now, he’s feeling _great_ as he fumbles with the key to his front door. It nearly slips from his fingers as he tries to get it into the lock, but he manages to keep it in his fingers. The door unlocks with a quiet click, and Connor pushes it open. The apartment on the other side is dark-- Connor stumbles over his own feet as he steps in.

Drunkenly, he hiccups. Then, he giggles. He laughs dumbly, kicking his apartment door shut with a little too much force. It slams shut, but Connor couldn’t care less.

It’s been way too long since Connor’s drank this much… it doesn’t help that he has a low tolerance.

Connor kicks off his shoes, stumbling again as they thump against the ground. He slips a little, socks sliding against the hardwood floor, and giggles again as he manages to make his way into his bedroom.

It’s a pure miracle that he didn’t fall down. But he’s okay, lazily undressing himself as he stands in the middle of his dark bedroom.

He’s got his pants down and sweater pulled up over his head when he hears a familiar bang. Connor freezes, the sweater covering his eyes. There’s another bang, and a low groan. It’s drawn out, muffled by the thin wall.

Connor’s too drunk this time around to stop the thoughts. Something warm stirs in his gut. With a deep breath, he shimmies out of the sweater. It drops quietly to the floor. Now that his eyes are uncovered, Connor stares at the wall that divides his apartment and Hank’s. The wall is bare-- Connor too busy to find the time to hang up pictures-- but he imagines that if he had something hung up, it’d fall off with the force of the banging. The wall almost _shakes,_ another bang drowning out a laugh.

Connor’s just in boxer briefs, a button down, and grey striped socks. He’s wearing too little for this situation. His dick’s already stirring in his underwear… so he pulls off his shirt anyway. Wine’s got his brain all muddled. Tomorrow morning, he’ll be aware of how bad of an idea this is, but _tonight,_ tonight he’ll relish in it. The alcohol makes this seem so damn good.

So he lets his shirt fall to the floor. He lets himself curl up against the headboard of his bed, and head tilt back. He lets himself slip a hand into his underwear.

Tomorrow, he’ll realize that he’s got his hand in his pants, horny like some teenager. But for now? For now, he’ll curl fingers around his half-hard cock, letting his eyes shut to the steady beat of Hank’s bed frame hitting the wall.

Connor strokes lazily, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“ _Fuck--”_ a voice on the other side of the wall hisses. “ _Fuck! Please--”_

There’s a deep, rolling laugh.

“ _Oh baby you feel so good.”_

Connor nearly bites his lip off. That’s _Hank--_ that’s Hank’s voice--

Connor pushes his boxers down just enough to get his cock out. It pops out, curving up towards his stomach. He curls a hand around himself again, bending his knees up towards his chest. He plants his feet flat on the bed, letting himself get lost in the sound of groaning from the other apartment.

“... _look so beautiful…”_

A weak moan tumbles from Connor’s lips. He stills, clapping a hand over his mouth. It wasn’t loud at all; there’s no way Hank could’ve heard it. But there’s something terrifying and taboo about moaning. About making noise that could be overheard.

Keeping his hand plastered to his lips, Connor starts stroking his cock again. There’s another bang and a little pleasured cry. Connor closes his eyes again, jerking himself off sharply. He’s got this image in his head of Hank towering over him… he thinks about Hank pushing him down onto his bedsheets, using his broad chest to pin Connor in. His wide hands are at Connor’s hips, holding Connor still as Hank lays into him.

Connor moans into his hand. He wishes he were there. He wishes he was on the other side of the wall, limbs weak and body willing to do whatever Hank wants. But he’s not, he’s curled up on his bed with his hand on his cock, moaning into his palm.

“ _I’m-- I’m so close--”_ The other voice whimpers. Connor whimpers too, toes curling against the sheets. His hand is picking up speed, matching the rhythm of the banging.

“ _Gonna cum baby? Yeah? Cum for me…”_

Connor lurches forward, curling over his bent knees. A sharp moan rips through the wall, high and wavering. Connor’s right on the edge, spurred on by the stranger cumming.

_“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck…”_

Hank’s cursing. The rhythm stutters. The monotonous banging slows. There’s a few, spaced out thumps, so sharp that Connor can hear the slapping of skin on skin-- and then Hank’s groaning. It’s so loud that Connor thinks it echoes.

Connor cries into his hand, wrist jerking sharply before he’s cumming too. He stripes his stomach with cum. It’s kind of gross, but Connor doesn’t care. He’s enraptured by the sound of panting from the other apartment.

There’s muffled laugh, and the sound of bedsprings shifting.

“ _Fuck, I thought you were gonna tear me in half…”_ The stranger jokes, laughing airily.

Connor, coming down from his high, gasps. His eyes shoot open. _Tear me in half_ \-- oh my god-- _how…_ how ‘ _endowed’_ is Hank!?

 _“Lotta people say that,”_ Hank laughs from the other side.

“ _God, if you can get it up again…”_

The rest of the stranger’s words are drowned out by Connor’s heavy breathing. The pleasant buzz of wine-drunk is fading, and now Connor’s left to deal with the emotional ramifications of what he just did.

Sure… Hank never has to know that Connor masturbated to him in some kind of weird voyeuristic way… but still. Connor likes to think he has standards...

With a shaky hand, Connor reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand. He wipes off his stomach. He balls up the sticky tissue, tossing it in the direction of the waste bin. He most definitely misses, but that doesn’t matter now.

There’s the sound of bodies moving on the other side of the wall. On Connor’s side, he’s motionless.

He lays in his bed, curled up against the pillows. He feels sick to his stomach.

 

\-------------------------------

 

The following evening, Connor is in pajamas again. Hank steps into the mail nook, keys in hand. Connor’s back is to Hank, despite their mailboxes being right next to each other.

“Hey Connor,” Hank greets. Hank wants to pretend last night ever happened. He remembers hearing Connor’s door slam shut in the middle of his romp with some twink he picked up at a bar. He knows Connor heard. But there’s not a chance in hell he wants to discuss it now, especially in the very public lobby.

Connor turns a little, just barely glancing over his shoulder. There’s a pale pink blush on his cheeks. It’s barely visible, and Connor turns away almost immediately. But Hank’s nothing if not a detective-- he sees it in a second. Oh Connor _absolutely_ heard.

“Hello,” Connor replies. He’s flipping through his mail, but he’s obviously hardly looking at it. “How was work?”

“Long… Didn’t get much done though,” Hank sighs, shoving the key to his mailbox in the lock. The old mailbox lock screeches at the force of it, but Hank could care less. “How about you?”

“It was okay,” Connor says blankly. His back is still to Hank. Hank raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe last night wasn’t a good idea.

Hank doesn’t say much else. He grabs his mail, not even bothering to thumb through it before he shuts the mailbox door. Connor’s still there, pretending to read a piece of junk mail. Hank gives him one last look, then leaves the mail nook.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Hank brings home another guy. And another. And another. He can’t fucking help himself, it seems.

He goes to a bar straight off of work. He’s looking for a buzz, a quick fuck, something, _anything_ to get his mind off of his neighbor.

Connor, whose smile is like the fucking sun contained between two pink lips. Connor, who laughs at Hank’s shitty jokes. Connor, who walks barefoot to the mailboxes. Connor, who is adorable in oversized pajamas. Connor, Connor, Connor,

it’s been escalating over the past few weeks.

After that awkward, stilted meeting in the mailroom, Connor’s attitude had gone back to normal. Well, maybe not even normal. His neighbor seemed to be more upbeat, and potentially flirtatious. Hank, despite being a decorated police detective, was as blind as a fucking bat when it came to romantic shit. That’s almost definitely why he’s handling his pining over his neighbor by picking up twinks at bars.

So tonight’s twink is lithe and pale, with black hair instead of brown. They don’t have freckles like Connor does, but it works well enough when Hank’s eight inches deep in the twink. The headboard is banging against his wall again, but he kinda doesn’t care. He’s got a few drinks in him, taking the edge off.

Under him, a nameless guy moans. It’s a nice sound, close enough to Connor’s for Hank to twist it into what his imagination wants it to be. He lets his eyes shut, placing a hand on the flat of the guy’s back. His head tilts back, mind wandering off to the scene Hank wishes he was in. Connor would be on his knees, taking Hank beautifully, and letting sugarsweet moans tumble from his lips.

Hank thinks about that up until his hips are stuttering, pace faltering as he cums.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Eleven times.

Connor’s counted.

 _Eleven times_ . Hank’s brought home eleven different twinks since the night Connor got drunk and masturbated to the sound of Hank and some stranger fucking. They’ve been spread out of the course of three weeks, but _eleven people_ is too many people to have in three weeks.

Connor doesn’t even think he’s had sex with ten people in total, in his 34 years on this planet…

So maybe Connor’s a little bitter. He’s a little jealous, wondering why the fuck it can’t be him in there with Hank. Connor is not one for confrontation, but he wants to scream at Hank for being so loud. It interrupts his work, sleep, relaxation, eating, mental and physical state… Hank’s _sexcapades_ disrupt everything for Connor.

He gets sick of it after he hears Hank come home from work at the end of the third week. Connor stands from his desk seconds after the door shuts on the neighboring apartment. He’s still got pajamas on, which he doubts will help his case, but he’s going to confront Hank anyway. He’s losing it. Hank’s noises are driving him _crazy_.

Barefoot, he stomps through his apartment. He throws open his apartment door, immediately turning to the right and stamping over to the next door down. He raises a fist, knocking three times with almost all the force he has.

There’s silence on the other side for five long seconds, then the sound of footsteps. The door opens carefully, Hank angrily peering out from the other side.

“What do you--” He starts, ready to yell at whoever’s pounding on his door. But he locks eyes with Connor, and stops. The anger melts immediately. “Oh… Hey Connor. Everything okay?”

“Can we talk?” Connor bites out, voice strained. Hank’s eyebrows pinch in in concern, but he opens the door wider anyway.

“About…?”

Connor steps into the apartment, nearly fuming. If Hank wasn’t so concerned on why Connor’s so riled up, he’d find the look adorable. Connor’s face is pinched, shoulders pulled in tight, and hands nearly shaking.

“Your parade of twinks,” Connor says. Hank hisses out a curse, shutting his door quickly.

“Jesus! Not so loud Connor, don’t want the whole fuckin’ floor hearing.”

“I’m surprised the _whole floor_ can’t hear you!” Connor crosses his arms over his chest.

Okay, Hank feels kind of shitty. Connor’s always been so kind to him… and now he’s gone and pissed off the only neighbor that seemed to like Hank.

“I’m uh… I’m sorry?” Hank stumbles over his words.

They still stand at the door of Hank’s apartment. Neither one of them moves further in though; they stand just a foot apart. Connor’s shorter, glaring up at Hank through his glasses. Hank looks at Connor, feeling small despite their height difference.

Connor huffs, fingers curling around his arms as if to keep himself from lashing out.

“What are you trying to do?” Connor asks, voice substantially calmer.

It throws Hank in for a loop. He certainly expected more anger. He’s good at anger. He’s calmed down so many witnesses over the years, he’s good at dealing with that. But this kind of brutal honesty that requires bearing his heart? That, he’s awful at.

“What do you mean?” He swallows thickly.

Connor sighs heavily. “What are you trying to do? Are you trying to hurt me?”

Hank’s breathing stutters.

“I hear every single person you bring home,” Connor’s voice gets quiet all of the sudden. Barely above a whisper. Connor looks down at the floor. His “Are you trying to hurt me? Torture me by making me listen? I’ve been... I thought…”

He trails off, unsure of where he’s going.

Hank’s heart falls through his chest. It falls through the floor, going deep into the core of the earth.

“Oh-- oh god _Connor_ ,” Hank rasps out. “I was trying to get you out of my head.”

Connor’s head shoots up.

“ _What?_ ” He gasps so sharply it sounds like it hurt him.

“Jesus Christ--” Hank murmurs. Without hesitation, he takes a step forward. He plants his hands on Connor, one on Connor’s jaw, the other on Connor’s shoulder. Then, he pulls Connor up, connecting their lips messily.

Connor makes a surprised noise, muffled by Hank’s lips. Within seconds though, Connor’s leaning into it. His arms unfold, moving to clutch Hank’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

The kiss breaks after a few seconds. Connor’s gasping for breath, falling back onto his feet. Hank hadn’t even realized he had pulled the other man up onto his tip-toes.

“Does that explain it?” Hank asks. His hands are still on Connor-- taking in the warmth of the other man.

“Yes,” Connor exhales as he speaks. He nods sharply. “Can we do that again?”

Hank laughs. Connor melts under the sound, feeling weak in the knees. His hands move up to Hank’s shoulders, this time pulling Hank down for a kiss.

Their lips meet again. It’s not as messy or rushed or desperate this time. The slide of their lips is addicting though. Hank could do this for forever. But Connor’s eager for more. Connor steps closer, their chests nearly touching. Then the kiss breaks, Hank pulling back to breathe.

“Can I stay?” Connor asks. Hank heaves in a breath, eyes squinting in confusion.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You usually go out… and bring someone home…” Connor trails off. He glances away shyly. Hank can see a blush forming on his cheeks. “Could I be that someone?”

Hank huffs out a laugh. “Fuck, _Jesus_ , of course Con.”

The nickname makes Connor’s blush intensify. He laughs a little. He smiles up at Hank. That smile that makes him glow.

“Where’s your bed?” Connor asks abruptly.

If Hank was drinking something, he probably would’ve spit it out by now.

“ _Jesus_ , already ready to go?”

“Yes,” Connor says simply, nodding. “I’ve been waiting weeks to hear you… without a wall between us.”

Hank’s heart misses a goddamn beat.

“Did you… Did you touch yourself? When you heard me, I mean.”

Connor’s blush is turning red. Sheepishly, he nods. Hank could die right there-- he can feel blood moving to his crotch.

“So what did you do?” Hank asks. He can’t help himself-- he’s been thinking about Connor instead of whatever twink he was fucking at the moment for far too long. And now that Connor’s admitting he _did the exact same thing?_ Life can be kind sometimes.

“I… I touched myself…” Connor’s hesitant to answer, but by the look in his eyes, he’s ready for wherever this goes. “Sometimes I would finger myself too-- thinking about you.”

“God…” Hank murmurs. His hands slide down from Connor’s face and shoulders, taking both of his hands. Hank takes a step towards the living room, pulling Connor with him.

“I’ve thought about you too,” Hank says. He starts to lead Connor through the apartment, towards the bedroom.

His apartment has the same layout as Connor’s; only it’s mirrored so they share the bedroom wall.

And Connor follows easily. He’s barefoot afterall, feet half-hidden under oversized pajama pants. Hank brings them to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Connor takes in the room as Hank pushes the door shut. It’s small, just like Connor’s, but much more messy. The bed’s unmade, clothes sprawled in piles around the room, and a large dog bed in the corner. Connor doesn’t remember seeing Hank’s large St. Bernard when they were by the door… but he knows the dog is probably around somewhere. They’ve talked about Sumo a lot at the mailboxes…

But thoughts of Hank’s dog leaves his mind when Hank puts his hands back on Connor, this time at his hips.

“Anything I should know?” Hank asks. He’s behind Connor, using his hold on Connor’s hips to pull him back against his chest.

“Hm?” Connor hums quietly. He likes the warmth rolling off of Hank in waves, loving the way Hank’s larger stomach presses against the small of his back. He thinks they fit together perfectly.

“Are you clean? Into anything…?” Hank murmurs. He’s leaning in close, breath against Connor’s neck. A second later, there’s kisses being lightly placed behind his ear.

“I’m clean,” Connor whispers. “And… And I want you to treat me like all those guys you bring home. I want you just like that.”

“Just like that?” He can almost _hear_ the eyebrow raise in Hank’s tone. Connor nods though, settling his hands over Hank’s.

“Alright, baby, then how about you get settled for me?” Hank’s hands slide out from under Connor’s. The weight against Connor’s back disappears. Connor nods though, following Hank’s gentle instruction and goes to sit on the bed. He sits at the edge, hands tucked neatly in his lap. Hank stands above him, looking pleased.

Connor would be lying if he said he wasn’t hard as a rock.

Hank holds his gaze on Connor for a few seconds. Then he looks away, shucking off his pants. He keeps his boxers on though, then moves up to pull off a hideously patterned button up. Connor watches, rapt.

Hank glances back at Connor, fingers hesitating along the bottom hem of his undershirt. Connor still watches, just waiting. So Hank decides _fuck it_ and pulls the undershirt off too. He lets it drop to the floor, waiting to gauge Connor’s reaction. He expected some kind of vaguely disgusted look, but Connor’s eyes soften, lips parting just barely.

That makes Hank weak-- so he pulls the attention off of himself by pulling at Connor’s hoodie. Obediently, Connor lifts his arms, allowing Hank to do all the work.

The hoodie joins the other garments on the floor. Underneath the hoodie is Connor’s bare chest. It’s all pale skin and spotted with freckles, barely defined muscles, and wispy body hair in a trail from Connor’s belly button to below the waistband of his pajama pants.

“God you’re beautiful,” Hank exhales. Connor looks away bashfully, that beautiful blush returning. Hank grins, motivated by bright pink cheeks to pull at Connor’s pajama pants. Connor braces himself on the bed with his hands, giving himself enough leverage to lift his hips. Hank quickly tugs down the pants, expecting Connor’s underwear or something… but Connor’s gone commando.

“ _Fuck_ , Con…” Hank laughs roughly, letting Connor’s pants pool around his ankles. Connor laughs a little, kicking his feet away from the pile of fabric. Underneath his pajama pants, he was hiding his hard cock-- pink at the tip and curving up towards his belly button.

“Don’t like wearing any under my pjs,” he admits, glancing up over the tops of his glasses at Hank. Hank laughs again, placing his hands on Connor’s shoulders. He makes to push Connor back to lay down-- but Connor’s arms hold him up.

“Wait… I want to suck you off.”

How simply Connor says it makes Hank nearly groan. One of Connor’s hand leaves the bed, resting on Hank’s hip.

“Can I?” Connor asks.

“Hell yeah,” Hank nods. “I’ll never say no to that.”

Connor huffs a laugh out from his nose. It’s cute, really, him looking up at Hank through his large glasses with pink cheeks and a small smile. The smile disappears in a second though, replaced by a determined look as Connor roughly pulls down Hank’s boxers.

And um… Hank is _well endowed._

Connor thinks back to when he had first masturbated to Hank… To the stranger who joked he was gonna get ripped in two. Connor almost repeats the joke, but he decides it’d be a better use of his mouth to stick out his tongue and run the flat of it up the bottom of Hank’s heavy cock.

At the motion, Hank lets out a quiet, content sigh. One of his large hands comes to rest on the back of Connor’s head. The touch isn’t anywhere close to harsh; it’s just enough pressure for Connor to be happy.

Connor does it again, running his tongue up the underside of Hank’s cock before taking the head into his mouth. Hank makes another pleased noise. His hand shifts, weaving through Connor’s hardly brushed hair. Connor takes more of Hank in, lips pulled tight around Hank’s cock. The strain will hurt his jaw if he’s not careful, so Connor takes it slow. Hank’s fine with it, it seems, watching Connor take in his cock with pleasure.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful,” Hank comments.

If Connor didn’t have most of Hank’s cock in his mouth, he would’ve sputtered and looked away shyly. But instead, he lets heat warm his cheeks, and gazes directly up at the other man. Hank eats the look up, groaning softly as Connor starts to bob. Connor can’t get it all in, of course, but whatever his mouth can’t get, he curls his hand around.

The quiet, wet noises of Connor’s mouth is obscene. But god, Hank could listen to it for forever. He’s been wanting this from the first time he and Connor spoke to each other.

After a few minutes, Hank gently pulls on Connor’s hair. Connor gets the signal, pulling back. The _pop_ of Hank’s cock leaving his lips is absolutely sinful.

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” Hank comments.

Connor laughs a little. “Don’t want that… I want you inside me.”

And Hank’s happy to fulfill that want. This time, Connor lets himself be pushed back against the bed. He settles into the comfy mattress, head resting against the pillows. Contently, he watches Hank push his boxers down the rest of the way, and reach for the bedside dresser.

“Condom?” Hank asks, digging through weeks of receipts and stray papers to find a half empty bottle of lube and a condom.

“I don’t want one, if that’s okay,” Connor says. Hank pauses, hand buried in the drawer. _That’s more than okay._ His gaze turns to Connor.

Connor looks like a king on his throne, if the throne were made of pillows. He’s absolutely glowing, legs bent upwards and spread just enough for Hank to catch a glimpse of Connor’s cock. Hank grins, tossing the lube against the pillows and shutting the drawer.

“Do you want me to cum in you?” Hank asks, raising an eyebrow.

Connor bites his lip, nodding sheepishly. Hank grin sharpens. He grabs Connor’s knees, slipping his hands underneath and using his strength to pull Connor towards him. Connor lets out an undignified yelp at being dragged halfway across the bed. He clamps a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, red peeking out from under his fingers.

Hank laughs, then pulling Connor’s knees apart. That pretty cock is revealed, and if Hank spreads a little more… Connor’s pretty little hole.

“Oh baby, I want to hear you.”

Connor pulls his hand away from his mouth. Instead, he settles both hands in the messy sheets, ready to grip them just in case. Hank’s tongue pokes out, licking his bottom lip. Connor is _delectable,_ spread out in front of him… _just_ for him.

Hank reaches for the lube, popping the cap open and squirting some on his fingers.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Hank says. Connor nods.

Hank circles a finger around Connor’s rim, wetting it with lube. His eyes flick up Connor’s face, watching his expression as he pushes a thick finger in. Connor’s face pinches in for a second, then relaxes once more. Once Connor relaxes, Hank starts to pump his finger. Weakly, Connor moans. The muscles in his thighs tense up for a second, then loosen once more.

“Easy baby…” Hank murmurs, other hand massaging the pale inside of Connor’s thigh. He pumps his finger for another minute before adding another. Connor moans again, fingers twisting up in the sheets.

“A-Another,” Connor whines. Hank snorts softly, but complies anyway. Stretched to three fingers, Connor’s doing so well. He rolls his hips a little, pushing back against Hank’s fingers.

“Ready baby?” Hank asks, waiting for Connor’s nod before withdrawing his fingers. He reaches for the lube again, squirting some into his palm. Connor’s not watching, eyes closed and head tilted back.

Hank strokes himself a few times, getting perfectly lubed up. With his clean hand, he taps the top of Connor’s thigh to get his attention. Connor’s eyes open, meeting Hank’s.

“Can you put a pillow under your ass?” Hank asks. Connor laughs a little, reaching over his head for one of the pillows. He wiggles a little, lifting his hips a bit and managing to shove the pillow under himself. It gives him a few more inches-- easier for Hank.

“Come on,” Connor whines, wiggling his ass again to hopefully intice Hank to speed up. It works pretty damn well; Hank’s clean hand grips Connor’s hip and the other guides himself to line up with Connor’s hole.

He pushes in, eyes flicking between Connor’s ass and face. Either sight is beautiful-- watching himself sink into Connor or Connor’s face twisting up in the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

Hank gets all the way in, holding still so Connor can adjust.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Connor curses quietly.

“Everything okay?” Hank asks. He’s never heard Connor curse before. But god, he wants to make him do it more often.

“Mhm,” Connor nods frantically. “You’re just… you’re so…”

“I know, baby, I know,” Hank massages Connor’s hip. His other hand settles on the bed, keeping himself balanced. “Ready for me to move?”

“Yeah,” Connor nods again.

Hank treats him well. He thrusts slowly, pulling back almost all the way before rocking his hips forward. And Connor takes him beautifully-- able to take every inch with a little moan or gasp. The noises makes Hank wonder if this is what Connor sounded like when he masturbated to Hank’s loud one-night-stands. He wonders how he didn’t hear them ever, through the thin walls, because the more Connor relaxes, the louder he gets.

After a few minutes, his legs curl around Hank’s waist, forcing Hank to step closer. Even rest one knee up on the bed.

“Faster,” Connor demands. Hank is completely happy to oblige. He bends forward a bit, getting better leverage to pick up the pace of his thrusts. It’s after a few thrusts that he has enough force to knock the headboard against the wall. The banging at this point is a familiar sound, but hearing it from this side makes Connor laugh airily.

“Keep going-- _god,_ ” Connor’s exasperated, trying to keep his breathing steady but Hank’s pounding into him. He feels so damn _full._ Hank’s cock is thick, feeling like heaven as he brushes Connor’s prostate.

The headboard bangs again, again, again, again

Connor’s losing it. He wrenches his hands free from the sheets. He grabs Hank’s arms, pulling enough to force Hank down. Hank curses-- almost slipping out of Connor. He manages a shallow thrust in, barely enough to please Connor.

“Fuck me,” Connor forces out between clenched teeth. “ _Hard.”_

The angle Hank’s been forced into isn’t the best, but _fuck_ he’ll do anything for Connor. He pulls his hips back, barely waiting before snapping forward. The movement is jarring-- Connor jolts on the bed and the bedframe clatters against the wall. Hank repeats the move, pulling back far enough for only the head of his cock to stay in Connor. Connor whines, grip tightening on Hank’s arms. It’s hard enough to leave bruises.

Hank’s hips rock forward, deep into Connor. Connor nearly _cries_ , a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan ripping out of his throat.

The sound is intoxicating. Hank wants to know if you can get drunk of noise.

“Fuck baby,” Hank grits his teeth. There’s pressure building up in his gut. With Connor clenching around him and moaning, he isn’t going to last much longer. Connor’s not going to last  much longer either it seems-- he’s a whining, sweating, blushing mess. Sweat is pooling in the dips of his collarbones, and the red flush from his cheeks is starting to bleed onto his torso.

“You close?” Hank asks.

Connor nods, whining instead of responding with words.

“Me too baby,” Hank keeps talking, mind starting to fry under the pleasure and heat and pressure. “You feel so fucking good… You look beautiful and you’re doing so well.”

One of Connor’s hand releases its iron grip on Hank’s arm. Hank moves immediately, hand curling around Connor’s weeping cock. Around his cock, Connor clenches. Hank curses something unintelligible.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hank’s cursing up a storm. Connor, overwhelmed, throws an arm over his eyes. They knock into his glasses but he couldn’t care less.

The bedframe cracks against the wall.

Hank jerks Connor off in time with his brutal pace.

Connor’s got tears in his eyes.

And Connor cums without warning. His back arches away from the bed, eyes clenched shut. He doesn’t even make a peep-- lips parted in a silent scream-- as he paints his stomach white.

The sight is something Hank wishes he could remember for forever.

Hank follows shortly after, laying a few deep thrusts into Connor before letting go.

The two are gasping. Hank’s hips still. Connor’s actually crying.

Hank gently pulls Connor’s legs off of his waist. Connor doesn’t seem to mind, too fucked out to notice that Hank’s guiding him to lay back on the pillows, or wiping the overstimulated tears off his cheeks.

When Connor’s eyes open, Hank is there, carefully wiping up the cum with tissues. Connor’s  breathing hitches, making Hank look up at him.

“Are you back with me?” Hank asks, voice soft. Connor weakly nods.

“Yeah,” his voice is dry, cracking from exertion. Hank laughs a little, sitting up to kiss Connor. Connor accepts the kiss happily. His arms are too weak to move, but he’s able to tilt his head up into Hank’s.

The kiss doesn’t last long. There’s not much heat in it. Both Connor and Hank are all fucked out-- so worn out and ready to relax.

“Can we talk about this?” Connor murmurs. “After we sleep, of course.”

“Of course,” Hank agrees with a nod. He balls up the messy tissues, dropping them onto the equally messy nightstand. That’ll have to do for now, he is absolutely not getting out of bed to throw them away in the bathroom.

He’d rather lay down next to Connor, maybe take his sweaty body into his arms and just lay there. Enjoy the afterglow of a good romp.

So that’s what he does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on both [tumblr](http://geoffseightgreatestmistakes.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM)!! I don't post much on twitter, but I'm on it a ton :D


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